I'll Always Love You (in my way)
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: Modern AU: Sybil's estranged family are coming to London for Christmas, and both she and Tom are doing everything they can to try and make it "perfect"; a feat which proves difficult when the oven breaks in the middle of cooking Christmas dinner. Based on the film "Pieces of April", and my gift to Gothamgirl28 for the Sybil x Tom Secret Santa 2017 exchange.


_SURPRISE! This is my contribution to the Sybil x Tom Secret Santa 2017 exchange-and I am the Secret Santa to **GOTHAMGIRL28!** Her request was simple: a modern AU where Tom and Sybil are hosting Christmas for the rest of the Crawley family for the first time. And at the time when I received it, I had just finished watching what is perhaps my favorite "Thanksgiving-themed" movie: _"Pieces of April" _. If you don't know the plot to that film, I won't spoil it for you, as it will be revealed in this story, but I borrowed the general storyline from that movie, and put a little "Sybil/Tom" twist on it! :oP  
_

 _And because I can never do anything "simple", this story will be a minimum of 3 chapters (I'm going to do everything I can to keep it under 5) and I hope to post them over the next few days. So with these remaining "days of Christmas" still around us, I hope you continue to bask in the holiday spirit throughout the winter, and wish you all a very happy new year!_

 _OH! And one more thing: the title for this story comes from a song (featured in the film,_ "Pieces of April") _, and I highly recommend looking it up on Youtube and giving it a listen as you read :o) Ok, without any more ado..._

 **I'll Always Love You (in my way)**  
 _ **by The Yankee Countess**_

 _One April day,  
We'll go miles away,  
And I'll turn to you,  
And I'll say,  
"I've always loved you, in my way…  
I'll always love you, in my way."  
—_Stephen Merritt _  
_

 _ **December 25,  
Whitechapel-Hackney, East London, 7:00am**_

There was a rip in the old curtain shades that adorned the tiny bedroom window; it was something Tom had been meaning to replace, but had never gotten around to doing it (and honestly, rent, utility, and grocery bills mattered more than fixing a torn window shade). But it was because of that rip that the sun managed to peek in through the icy window and fall across Tom's face, lulling him out of a peaceful slumber. He blinked as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim room, and then he yawned and found himself burrowing deeper beneath the blankets, not quite ready to greet the cold morning air.

He wasn't the only one. A smile spread across his face as he felt the body next to him also burrow deeper, as if sensing the cold and seeking the comfort of his body warmth. Tom sighed and turned his body to spoon that of his bed partner, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder.

"Hmmm…" came a light protest, which he knew was in response to the scratchy feel of his "morning grizzle" against her skin. Tom turned his lips to the spot where his chin had been resting and placed a tender kiss, grinning at the sleepy smile that now spread across his partner's face. "Come on, love," he whispered into her ear. "Time to wake up…"

She made another sound of protest, this one a bit louder and bit harsher. "Don't want to," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut and managing to grab an edge of the blanket and attempt to throw it over her head.

Tom sighed and shook his head. "Nope, come on, we can lay in tomorrow," he announced, sitting up and grimacing at the cold air that greeted his skin. He really needed to talk to their land lord about the ancient heating in their flat.

"We can lay in _now_ ," she mumbled, still refusing to come up from under the blanket.

Tom couldn't help but chuckle. "It's Christmas morning, love," he gently reminded. She didn't respond. Had she gone back to sleep? "Sybil—"

"I heard you," she muttered, making no move to get up or even acknowledge the day.

Tom reached up and let his fingers stroke the hair that was peeking out from under the blanket. "We can lie in as long as you like tomorrow on Boxing Day, but we really need to get going."

"Whyyyyyyy…" he heard her groan, before she made an irritated huffing sound and turned over until she was facing him, her sleepy eyes just barely open.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. "You know why," he answered, fixing her with a firm look. She had warned him that she would be like this come the day, and had made him promise to fight her every step of the way if she tried to back out.

Sybil groaned again and shifted just a little, causing some of the blanket to slip, revealing a bare shoulder. The second the cold air hit her skin, she hissed and snatched the blanket back up. "Fuck, it's freezing!" she swore, burrowing even further beneath.

"I'll see to the heat," he promised, reaching over the side of the bed to fetch his shorts and Henley. "And I'll put the kettle on too, but once it finishes boiling, you _really_ need to get up, love."

Tom rose from the bed and gritted his teeth as his feet made contact with the cold floorboards; honestly, he really needed to talk to their land lord about the heat situation in their flat. As he went to tinker with the thermostat on the wall just outside their bedroom, Sybil finally managed to sit up, although she took the blankets with her and remained buried beneath them. "I've changed my mind," she announced from within her cocoon.

Tom lifted his eyebrows at this. "About…?"

"About today," she muttered with some annoyance.

Again, Tom bit the inside of his cheek. "It's a bit late for that, love."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "No it isn't; trust me, they're still in bed—they won't even stir till half-past ten. They probably won't even come!"

Tom shook his head and went back to focusing on the thermostat. "They will," he assured her, although he wasn't entirely sure if that was the answer Sybil was looking for.

"…You don't know them," Sybil mumbled, after a moment of silence. He glanced back towards the bedroom and saw that her head was now visible from the blankets. She looked uncertain, just as he suspected; caught somewhere between hopeful optimism and resigned pessimism.

He sighed and turned back towards the room, not stopping until he was beside her, kneeling on the floor and turning her slightly until she was facing him. "I know that they love you…" he murmured, the corner of his mouth turning upward as he spoke the words. "Damn impossible not to."

"Stop it," she grumbled, feebly pushing at his shoulders, but he remained where he was. "And stop trying to…to cheer me up," she added, now giving his chest a swat, which he took with a loving smile.

"Is it working?"

"No!" she lied, unable to stop the laugh that burst from between her lips. Tom grinned and leaned in to capture a kiss from those very lips which he loved so much. Sybil returned the kiss and he felt her arms somehow manage to free themselves from the confines of the blanket and wrap themselves around him, pulling him closer and attempting to draw him back into bed.

"Mmmmm—no love, we—mmmm—no, we need to get up…" he attempted to reason between kisses, which was difficult as he honestly didn't want to listen to "reason" right now, especially when he knew what lay beneath those blankets.

"I told you," she managed to mutter between kisses. "They…won't even…be getting up…for a few more hours…" She had succeeded and drawing him back and was making easy work of pulling his Henley off. "…And it takes my sisters—MmmMMmm— _at least_ two hours to get ready…not to mention how long it will take them to drive down here…"

"They might take the train," Tom conceded.

At that, Sybil paused, but only to throw her head back and laugh at the suggestion. "Why take the train when they have a perfectly good car and chauffeur to drive them?"

At that, her hands managed to find the waistband of his shorts, and any further discussion on the matter was over.

* * *

 _ **December 25,  
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, 8:00am**_

Despite the heavy velvet drapes that hung around their bed, light somehow managed to seep in and fall across Cora Crawley's face, causing her to wake and wince at the brightness shining in. She sat up a little and yawned, before turning her face toward the crystal timepiece on her bedside table.

"It's eight," she heard a voice mutter next to her. Cora turned and was surprised to see her husband, lying on his back but fully awake, staring straight up at the canopy over their bed.

"Robert?" Cora sat up a little more, looking concerned. "How long have you been awake?"

He didn't answer right away. "Honestly, I'm not sure…before it was light," he explained, his eyes still staring upwards.

Cora sighed and eased back against her pillows, also turning her eyes upward towards the canopy. "Are you worried about today?"

Again, he didn't answer. But he didn't have to, because after nearly forty years of marriage, she knew her husband's mind like her own. "I'm sure it will be fine," she announced, although she had to admit, she didn't sound entirely convinced.

An incoherent sound of some kind escaped Robert's lips. "How I wish I shared in your American optimism," he grumbled, before turning and forcing himself to rise from the bed. He reached for the bell pull and then stopped as he remembered it was Christmas, and the staff had been given the day off.

Cora sat up once again and watched as her husband more or less dragged himself out of bed and went in search of his dressing gown and slippers. "Sybil is fully capable, Robert," she felt the need to remind him.

Robert turned back towards his wife. "I have no doubt to that, Cora, but the question is…capable of 'what', exactly?"

Cora scowled at her husband's question. "Would it hurt you to have a little more faith in our daughter?"

Robert sighed and ran a weary hand across his face. "It's not that I…that I don't 'trust her'," he carefully explained. "It's simply…" he lifted his eyes to his wife's and Cora's heart broke at the defeated look they held. "It's Mama," he finally finished. "I…I hate thinking this, but…but you and I both know that this could very well be her last…her last…" He didn't want to finish his sentence, so instead he turned away before any sign of emotion could be seen—English stiff-upper-lip and all that.

Cora drew the covers back and rose herself, crossing the floor until she reached her husband's side. "I know," she murmured, her hands going towards his shoulders and rubbing up and down his arms in a gesture of comfort. "But…but your mother agreed—"

"I know she agreed, but I can't help but wonder if she did so out of guilt?"

Cora's hands stilled at Robert's words. "Darling, forgive me for saying this, but your mother is the last person on earth, anyone could possibly 'guilt'."

At that, Robert couldn't help but chuckle, which did ease the anxiety he was feeling, at least partially. "True, true," he mumbled in agreement. "But…but maybe I was too quick to agree to Sybil's offer. I think I was so surprised that she reached out at all, that I…honestly, I don't even remember what I said."

"It will be fine," Cora stated once again, her voice firm and leaving little room for argument.

"But will it?"

"Oh, Robert—"

"Perhaps I should ring her—Sybil, I mean—ring her and tell her that it's too cold for Mama to make the journey, that she's too tired and needs to stay here—"

His excuse was interrupted by the sound of a car honking its horn. Robert and Cora looked at one another in confusion, and heard the sound a second time. It was coming from just below their window! They rushed to it and threw back the curtains, shocked to see a silver and black Rolls-Royce sitting in the drive.

"Who on earth…?" Cora murmured, but Robert was already leaving the room, rushing out into the corridor and hurrying towards the staircase and past the surprised expressions of his two elder daughters, emerging from their rooms in confusion as the car continued to honk.

"What is it?" Edith asked as Robert passed.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Mary wondered, following their father down the steps.

Robert didn't answer, and didn't stop moving until he reached the giant door and pulled it open, his hand rising to shield the sunlight that hit his face, and peering out towards the car in the drive. He recognized his chauffeur, who looked extremely apologetic.

"Beggin' your pardon, milord, I didn't mean—"

"Pratt, what is the meaning—!?" Robert's question died on his lips as the passenger window rolled down.

 _"Granny!?"_ both Edith and Mary gasped.

Violet Crawley was wrapped in several layers of thick, woolen scarves, but the expression she wore was anything but fragile. "Come along," she instructed, before reaching over and beating the car horn once again. "We want to be in London before midafternoon."

Robert stiffened and then looked over his shoulder at his wife and daughters who were all looking to him for an answer to his unusual wake-up call. "Right," he murmured, more to himself, and then a little louder, "Right! Snap to it! We _are_ going to Sybil's for Christmas!"

 _To be continued..._


End file.
